Faults
by Soimcoolwithlife
Summary: It takes being shot in an elevator for anyone to realize Connor Rhodes is broken. Rated for depression, violence, cursing.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok. I heard all of your comments on my story Scars. I am very sorry many of you didn't like the way everyone found out about his abuse. I am. But, well, I think the story played out the way I wanted it to.**

 **First, many told me Ms. Goodwin seemed OoC. I didn't want to write her that way, but her inflection is really a big part of her character so she doesn't sound like a total bitch in the show. I couldn't seem to capture it. However, someone told me it was good when they imagined her facial expressions.**

 **The general idea was that the abuse needed to be explained to all because it wasn't on his resume, but abuse can cause ptsd and other circumstances that his colleagues should be aware of in case he needs help. For instance, if someone had a certain disorder that could affect work, it would be best if others(workplace/they _are_ doctors) knew about it in case of an emergency situation. This is not a law(I don't think so), but I wrote it as one.**

 **So all y'all who said it doesn't make sense, those who emailed me just to tell me that, and those who specifically told me this part of my story was terrible, (you know who you are): fuck off. For those who expressed their opinions considerately and not rudely(mostly everyone. Thanks!): thank you for expressing your opinion. I took the advice. I might rewrite my story Scars again in the future, but it is not my priority.**

 **This is my new story, which is again about Connor Rhodes. This was a request with my take on it. Different universe than Scars(totally unrelated, that never happened), but it's possible to read them together. This would come first. Please send me story requests. I hope you like and review! I also did not mean to come off as ungrateful. I love all of the suggestions and reviews! Rant over!**

 **Warning: Graphic description of self harm. Slight mentions of abuse, ptsd. Graphic description of depression and past depression. Graphic description of suicide attempts. Cursing.**

Ever since he was young, he was never confident of himself. He didn't even count his father's abuse as part of it. It was his mother's depression. Depression was hereditary, he knew that. But Claire didn't have depression. Not that she would tell him if she did.

But being trapped in an elevator with your colleague can make you realize how much you hate yourself.

He found his fingers skimming his wrists, feeling the scarring that very subtley covered them. Unless he was dying a blood loss and his skin became super pale, or someone looked really really close, they wouldn't see the scars. And yes, people have done both before.

He didn't do it anymore. Not lately anyway. It would be much to obvious since he didn't wear a long sleeved shirt. He quit. That was that.

But, like a junkie addicted to his drug, Connor really wanted to drag a knife across his wrists. He wanted to feel the blood drip off his fingers. He wanted to feel it run off his arms, wanted it to stain his t-shirt. He wanted it hurt like hell.

It was his fault. He let the boy die, the little boy who came in with a broken leg, who he didn't run any more tests on, and two weeks later he came in, had a seizure, and died.

He let the older man die. He was around 80 and had a heart attack. He should have recovered, but thanks to Connor's shitty surgery, he died. On the table.

He let- no, he killed a little girl and her brother. He took that one the hardest. The boy was about 14. He tried to run away from his abusive father. He was almost beaten to death. His sister was 5. His mother had committed suicide years ago. The boy was in a coma until his father, who hadn't been charged for under yet, pulled a gun and shot both him and his sister.

That was why they were stuck in an elevator.

Will was on the same floor as him, and they happened to walk into the same elevator. Or, to be precise, they were shoved in an elevator by SWAT, who apparently wanted to keep them safe by shoving them not an meal box that could plummet to their deaths any time. Honestly, he saw the father kill his children. He wouldn't of minded a couple a gunshots to take away the pain.

But it was the situation of the boy that was the killer. An abused boy whose mother committed suicide years before tries to commit suicide to get away from his father ends up in a coma while his little sister watches him sleep? It was he mirror image of Connor Rhodes.

But this kid was dead. That's why Connor wanted to run the blades over his wrists, or something. He just squeezed his hand into a fist, where his nails cut into his skin. It wasn't enough, but it was something.

All these thoughts and actions rushed into his head in a matter of seconds. In the next second, Connor was pushing Will to the floor, as bullets screamed through the elevator doors.

Then the doors closed and the bullets stopped.

Will dusted himself off. He was going to yell at Connor for shoving him to the ground. He could protect himself.

And then he looked up. Connor was leaning against the wall of the elevator, hunched over. Bleeding.

Blood stained the whole front of his torso and abs. The blood was already accumulating on the floor.

But Connor was just standing there like everything was great. Then Will realized that his head would have taken the bullets now embedded in Connor's chest.

"Shit."

"Yeah..."

Will shook himself out of his momentary panic. He went into doctor mode.

"Lie of the floor, I need to know were the wound entered," he commands. Connor slowly sits down of the floor of the elevator.

"I already know where they entered, Halstead. I need to pull them out, that's all," Connor almost smirks then remembers why they are here.

"They? As in, more than one!" Will exclaims, frantic.

"Relax. They are going to get us out soon. But I have to pull the bullets out now," Connor states, completely relaxed.

"Pull them out? With your fingers? No, no, no! You are going to bleed out in front of me and if you don't you will certainly get an infection!" He almost screamed at Connor, who looked like there was not a care in the world.

"I'll be fine. You need to calm down."

When this did nothing to calm Will's frantic, panicked breathing and wide eyes, Connor realized Will was about to have a panic attack. He tapped Will on the face, as his panicked eyes met Connor's.

"You have to calm down. Will. Calm down. Everything is fine," Connor slowly stated with as much confidence as he could muster. Halstesd's breathing started slowing.

But Connor, well he was a different situation. No matter how much he liked the pain, or it wasn't that bad, blood loss was inevitable. He felt himself starting to slip into shock. He needed to get the bullets out now.

He closed his eyes, and thought about the bullets. He felt them in his body, which as always, felt gross, but helpful. He new there was one in his chest, which was located a few inches down from his collarbone. That one probably nicked his lung, as breathing started to feel a bit harder.

He knew there was a bullet in his abdomen. It had entered just a couple inches away from his center. That one was pouring blood everywhere, and so was the other one, letting him know he was going to bleed out soon.

Will was still slumped against the wall.

"I'm going to help." Will said softly.

"You need to take off your shirt," Will said matter-o-factly. Connor ripped of his shirt, exposing his very toned, blood covered torso.

Connor pulled out a pocket knife and glanced at Will.

"Can you help me?" Rhodes asked. It wasn't a sarcastic comment, he was wondering if Will could actually help him without freaking out.

"Yeah," Will said sheepishly, pulling of his hoodie. He pressed firmly on the second bullet wound, while Connor focused on the one by his collarbone.

Connor took a deep breath and took both screwdriver attachments on his Swiss Army knife and held them like tongs. He reached into the bullet wound, pushing the screwdrivers in until he felt it, grabbed it, and pulled it out of his chest.

The blood fell faster, pouring out of the wounds. Connor had to keep a smile from his face. He deserved this. This is what he wanted and he didn't even have to use his knife.

But the blood was starting to flow faster than it should. He felt cold already, the shock already settling into his bones like a wet blanket.

He braced himself as he pulled out the next bullet, while Halstead kept pressure on the first wound. He knew he didn't have much blood to lose, but it didn't help that his lungs were filling with it.

He coughed, a painful and harsh sound, that soon had blood splatttering the elevator floor. The blood was rushing faster now. Will was right, he would bleed out here. But he wasn't going to die.

He pulled himself to a leaning position. Will had steady pressure on the wounds, but that wasn't what he was observing. The quiet of the elevator was broken by the harsh, bloody sounds of coughing.

"You know...depression is hereditary," Will said quietly and quickly, hardly making eye contact with Connor.

Rhodes looked at Will, who had obviously noticed his scars by now. His skin had become very pale from the blood loss, and it was kind of obvious. The scars that lined his wrists caused Will to glance at Connor quickly.

"I don't want your pity," he said coldly. Halstead knew him, or at least his icy side. He knew not to push.

But apparently, today, Will forgot.

"You obviously were depressed. Hell, maybe you still are depressed. That's not a weakness," Will said slowly. Connor realized that he was being treated like a patient.

"Stop. Don't diagnose me. Don't talk down to me. I don't need your pity," he said, unkindly. He did not need help. He blamed himself because he was to blame. That was all.

"I'm just saying, that you don't have to hide your old habits!"

"I'm just saying I don't want to hear it!"

"So! You obviously need -" Will's outraged cry was cut short as suddenly the elevator creaked.

Connor hauled himself to his feet. Will stood up too, leaning on the wall, still glaring at Rhodes.

And then the elevator plummeted.

They fell and fell, and in a matter of seconds, they car slammed to its lowest point.

Both doctors fell to the floor at the extremely sudden jerk.

Will hit his head, hard, on the floor. Connor was jerked down quickly and more forcefully than Will. He slammed into the ground, his ribs taking the brute force of the impact.

And then, darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I am super sorry for such a long wait. I have had a lot of schoolwork recently, and honestly, the motivation for this story fizzled out. In my head, I had made up and ending and I hardly felt the need to write it, but suddenly, I got a huge burst of inspiration. I will be writing a series of mostly un-connected stories describing Connor's relationships with everyone. My story Scars and this one, Faults, are part of it. Scars is like a general preview overview that is unconnected. I will be writing one about Connor and Choi getting locked in a closet and Choi figuring out Connor has claustrophobia. I need ideas everyone! I need some serious inspiration for Natalie, Charles, Reese, ect. Then I want to do a Superstore fanfic, because it's a new obsession** **of** **mine! Please enjoy and review!**

He woke up hurting. Hurting was actually a really mild description of what he felt. Honestly, he felt like hell warmed over. Plus an extra helping of life sucks.

He immediately realized he couldn't breathe. He also realized he felt warm. Like, fever warm. Fever meant infection. Infection meant he was still in the elevator.

He tried to open his eyes, but it was to hard. Opening eyes should not be that hard. He felt dizzy. He drew in a breath, but ended up coughing blood all over the floor. God, he was going to bleed out, right there on the floor. He could physically feel the blood seeping out of his wounds, drenching his chest, his black jeans, his shoes, the floor. It pooled, he could feel it underneath him. He vaguely wondered how he wasn't dead.

He felt for his limbs. He could feel his legs, which was good. He could feel his arms, and they lay on his... _oh._ His hands had an iron grip of his shirt, which was firmly pressed down on his wounds. Ouch. Yep, that hurt way to much to be normal.

He tried to force his eyes open, again. He groaned, and coughed up more blood. He finally pried his eyes open and the light burned. He moaned in agony.

He saw a head of red hair, and he vaguely remembered that Will was in the elevator. Wait... _Will._

He shot up instantly and quickly realized that was the worst thing to do. His ribs ground together, and he couldn't breathe. The blood that had finally started to clot underneath his iron grip started to trickle out again, and he pressed harder.

Once he could breathe again, he looked over at Will. There was blood on his head. Oh god, was he...?

He tried to move his arm, but his ribs screamed in protest. Black spots danced in front of his vision. He felt like sleeping. Sleeping would be good.

He forced himself to take Will's pulse. It was steady, but Will obviously had a bad head injury. He would have a hell of a concussion when he woke. Suddenly he felt a stabbing pain in his chest.

All he knew was agony, as he could basically feel his rib puncturing his lung. Deep. He could feel his ribs grinding together, broken badly. He really wanted to pass out. He could.

But would he wake up?

During this whole ordeal he was silent, but as his ribs shifted back into place, he couldn't help but let out a groan.

Will stirred slightly, moving his legs and arms for a second. Connor waited, but he didn't wake up. Will was fine, not paralyzed, just knocked out with a nasty concussion.

He knew that he was, in fact dying. No one, no matter how stubborn, can survive two bullet wound, punctured lungs, numerous broken ribs, infection, and major blood loss if they were trapped in a small, enclosed space with no help coming.

He looked at his wrists. The scars were prominent, but you wouldn't notice them if you weren't looking for them. They numbered his skin, so many of them. He could remember slicing each one.

That long one was because his father blamed him for lying.

That one, about six inches, deep, was when his mother died.

That one, about 4 inches long, was when his father blamed him for his mother's death.

The one that was jagged was when his father almost beat him to death.

The deepest ones were his suicide attempts. They lay just at his wrist, near his palm, most of his scars, but this one was different.

His suicide scars were deep and long. There was one near the inner crook of his elbow. That one, he almost made it. Well, made it in a sense that he almost died.

There was another suicide scar by his palm. He arced it, getting the vein and the artery. That one hurt less. It needed to hurt more.

The scar that technically killed him was a direct slice along his vein. It hurt like hell, but it happened, and though it had hurt, the blissful feeling was something he would miss.

He tried to take a deep breath, but nope, his ribs were still broken, lungs were still punctured, bullet holes, and infection were still there.

His shirt, which he had used to stop the bleeding, was drenched in blood. It was soaking, almost dripping. He vaguely wondered what color it had been, but his delirium was not making it easy.

Oh, his infection. He hated it, but the wounds burned like fire. The fever, which he definitely had, raged on. He knew it was dangerous to let the infection go unchecked, but if he moved his hands of the wounds, they might start bleeding again.

People had better find them soon.

 **Nat P.O.V.**

She had been in an ER trauma room when the thing went down. Apparently, the dad of Connor's patient had shot his son and daughter, got amped up on stimulants, and had gone on a rampage to find the doctor that had caused him so much trouble.

That would be Connor.

After the guy had stumbled into the ER, obviously drunk, high, and on medicines, he had passed out. Security removed his gun, and now police were swarmed everywhere.

But she could not find Will or Connor. She knew Will was going to the ICU, and she expected Connor was there too. She had walked everywhere, looking for them, but they were no where. She decided to take the elevator to the 5th floor. She didn't feel like walking two flights of stairs after today.

She pushed the button on the elevator, but nothing happened. It didn't even light up. She frowned. The only reason it would be like that was if the cable...snapped.

She started running, and seeing Lt. Kelly Severide, she tapped him on the shoulder.

"I think...I think that Dr. Halstead and Dr Rhodes are trapped in the elevator. But, the cable snapped."'she said quickly.

Suddenly they were off and running, down to the basement floor, where there was storage and some technical stuff. That was where the elevator would plummet to.

Severide grabbed a crowbar and pried open the elevator.

The sight that met their eyes was terrible.

Will was lying, face down, on the floor, a nasty head wound apparent. But the blood...oh god, the blood was all Connor's. Connor...and he was awake.

She yelled at Severide to get help, _now._ It was obvious that they needed help immediately, if they were to save either one of the doctors.

She entered the elevator. Connor acknowledged her with half a smile.

"Hey, Connor, how badly are you injured?" She asked, observing him while checking over Will.

"2 GSWs, one to the upper right chest, one in the side, broke ribs, punctured lung, infection, blood loss," he reported, in pain.

By this time, Natalie's hands had transferred to Connor, brushing along his toned chest to find the obviously broken ribs.

She noticed Connor was about to pass out.

"Hey! Hey, you need to stay awake. What happened?" She asked hastily.

"Guy was crazy, got shoved into the elevator, realized bullets were coming toward Will's head. Should of got shot somewhere less life threatening." He remarked, half ironic, half asleep.

"Stay awake."

"Mmh."

"Connor!"

But it was no use. The second Natalie pressed down firmly on his rib, he passed out.

She took his pulse instantly, panicking.

"We need a crash cart in here, now!"


	3. Chapter 3

**I know now this is really short but this was an idea and I can update more often with slightly shorter chapters if u want. I am continuing Colors. I know I said a certain number of reviews, but you guys deserve this. Manstead up ahead! Yeah, the next chapter will be about Connor and his depression and hospital stay...Have a nice day and review!**

"He's not breathing! We need to intubate now!" Natalie nearly screamed at a nurse.

"X-ray, CT, PET, and an MRI, stat!" She called out, quickly putting running her hands along Connor's to still body.

"Okay, I want saline, morphine, antibiotics, he's going to run an infection! I need Haldol, he's seizing!" She cried as Connor's body started to seize, like it was being drawn up by a magnet.

"Get him to OR, now!" She said finally. Blood was on her hands. God, that was Connor's blood. Connor's blood, the amazing Dr. Rhodes, star surgeon, that amazing guy who she worked with every day. His blood stained her uniform. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Her colleague just got wheeled away in an ambulance. No.

She felt warm hands on her shoulders, guiding her to sit down on the break room couch where whoever it was led her. It was Will, patched up. His head was covered in a dressing, eyes red, and looked a bit lost, as well as concussed.

They sat down on the couch, and she wasn't quite sure who was comforting whom. Her arms found themselves rapped around Will's waist, hands sometimes reaching to stroke Will's blood-matted hair, as she cried silently into his shoulder. Will's held her, softly speaking kind words.

"He saved me, you know," Will murmured into her shoulder. She pulls away from him, staring into his eyes. He looks so upset, so heartbroken.

"He pushed me away from the bullets, and I...I didn't, I couldn't help him, I was so paralyzed because it's _Connor_."

She knows what he's talking about. Connor was always alright. He always pretends to be alright. It's not that it was a colleague that was dying in an OR. It was that it was Connor. Connor didn't get hurt, he came off as arrogant but was confident. He was a mess inside, but helped others so much.

"When...when he first lost so much blood, I saw his wrists. I saw scars...and I ended up yelling at him for it. That was the last thing I said to him. I can't...I couldn't live with myself it he...if he dies, and that was he last thing I said to him." By this point, Will has tears streaming down his face, and Natalie wants nothing more than to wipe them away. So she does, fingers under his eyes, gently wiping the tears away, so they can talk.

Connor used to self harm? She had always suspected something was off, and now she knew. Depression, probably hereditary, from his mother. Having a father who verbally and almost definitely physically abused him, no, that didn't help. Connor was so strong, or her came off as so strong. Maybe not. She wondered what she knew about the guy at all.

Will looked so heartbroken, so upset, and Natalie didn't know what to do. So, she did the first thing that came to mind. She kissed him. So what if she had feelings for him. Connor was dying and they both felt responsible. She could have noticed they were missing earlier.

She pulled away from Will's soft lips.

"I'm sorry."

"For kissing me or about Connor?"

"Connor."

"So...kissing me is ok?"

"Yeah."

With that, she pulled him close and let the tears fall, making the shoulder of Will's bloody t-shirt damp with salty tears. He whispered into her hair,

"I don't know what I'm going to say to him."

"I think he'll be happy when you're alive. In the elevator, he was bleeding out and he just wanted me to check on you."

"Of course he did. What about his father?" Will pointed out, pulling away and staring in her eyes.

"Connor...I don't think Connor will want to see his father. Or his father to see him."

"Yeah," Will says, pulling her close again as they think. The only thing she would change about this moment: Connor not dying, and not crying. But yeah, it's pretty sweet.


End file.
